Piano Concerto for the Left Hand in D major
by Black Alnair
Summary: He is the kind of wizard who makes bad things look cool, Daphne thinks. Draco/Astoria, Daphne/Zacharias, some Draco/Daphne. Not as tangled as the pairings suggest!


**Piano Concerto for the Left Hand (in D major)**

**Author's Note**: Dedicated to **_____faith** over at LJ who wanted this Draco writer to write Daphne/Zacharias. Well, close enough. Title from Maurice Ravel's composition by that name.

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Daphne finds Draco outside, his head bent down, his silver-blond hair catching the pale shine of a quarter moon. He has his hands cupped towards his face and she isn't sure what is doing until she sees the flicker of a small flame between his fingers. "I thought you quit," she says to him when she is within hearing distance.

Draco whips around, startled. The cigarette is dangling precariously from his lips, but when he sees it's just her, he tilts his head back and bites down on the cigarette to catch it better.

"I thought you were Astoria," he says as he resumes his attempt to light up.

"That much was obvious," Daphne replies dryly before pointing her wand at the end of the cigarette and whispering a careful _Incendio._ Draco nods his thanks, his eyebrows slightly raised in surprise, but it's his envious look that is most obvious to her. Pursuant to his probation, he is not permitted to use a wand for another three years.

"I'm trying," he says. "Astoria won't get _near _me when I smoke." He makes a face and takes a long slow drag. He is the kind of wizard who makes bad things look cool, Daphne thinks, as she watches his eyes blend in with the cloud of smoke. "But I really need it sometimes," he says sighing. She has noticed – she suffers from the same ailment – once a slave to the spotlight, now he – she – both of them, shy away from it. During big gatherings, Draco only stood at the side of the room to sneer at his inferiors. Now he practically stands behind plants to get away from people. Sometimes, he leaves altogether. This is the first time she has followed him. This is not just any gathering.

"It's your own engagement party, you know."

Draco only rolls his eyes. "This is something my mother wanted. Astoria and I have already celebrated."

"You don't need to tell me _that_," Daphne replies. She frowns but is slightly more amused than social mores would normally permit.

"I meant in our own way. By ourselves," he clarifies, his lips curling in a sneer.

Once his face relaxes, Daphne decides he is really good looking. Draco has always been attractive in a way with his moonlit looks, his smooth features, and how he carried himself. But now, he has truly grown into his features and he holds his cigarette between his hands as though it belongs there. Daphne watches him drag it slowly from his mouth, in out in. She does not know what Draco sees in her sister. Of course, she loves Astoria and she is pretty and smart – a Ravenclaw even – and a pureblood. But she is also a cripple and Draco has conquered far more witches than any wizard has a right to.

"I want to bum that off of you," she says, stepping close – too close. She takes the cigarette from her sister's fiancé's fingers and takes a long slow drag, just as he has done. Draco does not back away from her but lifts an eyebrow. She only smirks in return and blows the smoke straight into his perfect face. She returns the cigarette but puts it between his lips and kisses him her thanks. She doesn't do it on the lips but close, on the corner of his mouth.

He backs up then, into the bushes behind him, his silk dress robes no doubt catching in the hedge. It is actually kind of cute the way he edges away from her. His lips are again curled unpleasantly. "What's your _problem_, Greengrass?"

"Nothing," she says, stepping back herself. "Say, why did you invite Zacharias Smith?" she asks as though that is a natural segue in the conversation.

Draco's eyes are like twin sparks in the growing twilight as they narrow at her. "Are you trying to break us up? Because it's not going to work," he says fiercely. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and angrily throws it in the fountain. The second it lands in the water, he goes after it and fishes it out. She is about to tell him that it doesn't matter, he wouldn't be able to relight it anyway but he is not trying to do that; instead, he is putting the wet cigarette into the box with the rest. He holds it out to her. The package has bold flashing lights on it that read "Smoking can cause heart disease."

"Burn it."

"What?"

"_Burn_ it. Burn them all."

Daphne is so surprised that she does. She casts a second _Incendio_.They are gone in a matter of seconds. Draco nods in satisfaction and that is the end of that. He has smoked his last cigarette. Daphne has never actually doubted that Draco is devoted to her sister but even with the entire package lying at his feet, the surprise is still clinging to her like a second skin. He just isn't the kind of wizard inclined to such grand gestures. She supposes burning a package of cigarettes in his fiancée's absence isn't _quite_ a sweeping display of love but Daphne chalks it up as befitting romance in her own twisted vision of love.

"Why do you care about Zacharias Smith anyway?" Draco asks as he scatters the pile of ashes at his feet with the toe of his shoe.

"I just don't understand why he's here. He's a Mudblood." She is angry without reason and it makes her angrier.

"He's a decent enough Quidditch player. And when did you care so much about blood? It's a new age anyway." He stops playing with the ashes and looks up at her, his expression inscrutable. He is silent as he stares at her and it begins to make her nervous. She shifts her feet and is about to speak when he finally does. "You like him," he finally says.

"What? No, impossible, he's a Mudblood Hufflepuff!"

He just shakes his head and moves to walk past her. "I'm going back to Astoria."

"What do you know about love?" she accuses. She only dimly registers what she is saying to his retreating back. It is only when he stops and turns to look at her over his shoulder that she realizes.

"Love?" he asks. He does not have to say anything else. He just smiles, the kind of smile that he reserves for her sister, the quick charming one that girls fall for. "I'll see you around, Greengrass. No more kisses. Your sister has a claim on me."

He disappears into the dark, the glow of his white-blonde hair the last thing she sees. And when she can't hear his footsteps anymore, Daphne lets out a groan in dismay. It seems that Draco Malfoy knows more about love than she does. And that just might mean she is in love with a Mudblood Hufflepuff…er, Muggle Hufflepuff.


End file.
